Generally Uninspired
by Creativetomboy
Summary: How do you preserve the feeling you had in a painting when the most important part of your experience is all a blur?


Generally Uninspired

You'd think the incarnation of pure dark magic and nightmares wouldn't be so easily defeated in an anti-climactic final battle; the first true confrontation with perhaps Nintendo's youngest hero ever. But that's exactly what happened. The adorable pink puffball managed to survive an onslaught of monsters directed at him, protect an entire planet, and destroy a great threat that an entire army of great warriors couldn't defeat hundreds of years before. Try to top that, Mario.

Upon Nightmare's defeat, his right-hand man escaped with barely more than the clothes on his back. It wasn't long before the unemployed Customer Service discovered another project to occupy his thoughts. As thrilling as taking defeated souls and returning their bodies to them is, the real fun happens afterwards. They stay in Customer Service's apartments.

Residents of Customer Service's apartments include, but are not limited to: Marx, Magolor, Taranza, Daroach, and even Yin-Yarn. In a ratio of men and women residents, the number of female apartment residents is significantly low in comparison, but the residents that are women generally keep to themselves for fear of the guys' crazy antics.

But not Drawcia.

As a creation of someone anonymous from this world, Drawcia is fascinated with all her world has to offer. The beauty of the world inspires artists to create art, and Drawcia, being the product of someone's artistry, finds beauty in all of her world.

Now, Drawcia is locked away, and has been for some time, in her own apartment, struggling as an artist herself. With the ability to bring drawings to life, Drawcia feels immense pressure to get every detail as perfect as perfection can be. Unfortunately, recreating the image of someone who seemed to stop time, yet was only there for mere moments has only ever been achieved by deities and those not unlike gods.

How can Drawcia both preserve the indescribable feeling of the moment and recreate the image if every time she reimagines the moment, the feeling gets weaker and weaker? She fears that the wondrous sensation of the moment will be gone before she can recreate it via her paintbrush and an easel.

She will reimagine her experience for the sake of telling a story. There was never a more perfect night than that night. No matter how big of breath she took, the crisp, pure air filled her lungs and satisfied her body's desire for life. The combination of content and readiness for rest created an inner peace unlike anything meditation could ever accomplish. She was ready to lie in the grass and rest, not bothered by the thought that she may very well be there in that state forever. But what happened next was worth being aroused from that state of peace.

She still isn't sure what or who exactly fell from the sky. Drawcia saw both a demon and an angel very fast, seeing bright red eyes, horns, and angelic wings. She supposes the scared feeling inside came from her brain not being able to decide whether it was evil or good. What further prolonged her indecisiveness was the idea of the creature's occupation based upon attire. With armor, a shield in one hand, and a lance in the other, the being could only be a knight. In any normal circumstance, the idea of a knight is a comforting thing, but Drawcia's eyes were fixed on the lance. The bright hue of the lance made the weapon more menacing than if it was any other color, as Drawcia always finds herself using the color pink when she's angry.

Then the being looked at her. Drawcia couldn't move, paralyzed staring straight back into its eyes. She can't say exactly what it saw her one visible eye, but she knows was she saw. Perhaps it was just suggestion of the color, but she could see bloodshed bedded deep within the void of its soul, the eyes acting as windows stained by what was behind them.

It stepped forward. Drawcia was stabbed right then and there with the lance of the bloodshed demon angel. She knew she was. She didn't need to open her eyes and look down; the lance was cold, gradually heating up by the blood that slowly coated it. Her blood.

There is never a more sorrowful moment in one's life than knowing that there would be no more life the next moment you released what air filled your lungs. And on a night Drawcia was enjoying so much; it wasn't long ago that Drawcia was thinking to herself that she wouldn't mind being in that very spot forever.

The being seemed to have read her mind. It told her to open her eyes. She obeyed; what else is there to do when you've already been declared dead by your own soul.

Everything she felt was but a lie. It was not the being that stabbed her, but her own fear of that being. After finding her body well, and her soul intact, Drawcia looked at the being. It was no longer monstrous. In fact, it was a beautiful sight. She examined as much of the being as she could, attempting to take mental images of as much detail as possible, everything from its white-washed wings to its blood red eye. And though the eyes still omened of blood, this no longer scared Drawcia.

All of the details she had captured became a blur when the creature said that it simply wanted a better look at the beautiful portrait of the pale blue sky within her eye. Once again, Drawcia finds herself paralyzed, only this time with wonder instead of fear. She was released from her frozen prison when the creature disappeared into the night sky. She was too much in awe to be sorrowful. Her body then shut down, overwhelmed by mixed emotions and failing to comprehend what just happened. The next morning was beautiful for two reasons; the sun rose on a clear sky, creating the most gorgeous sunrise to accompany the previous perfect night, and Drawcia has never felt so rested physically and spiritually.

That was several nights ago, and Drawcia has never felt so troubled. Her mental images of the being were blurred during her encounter with it, and no amount of free sketching has triggered any mental clearings. This is perhaps the most frustrating project Drawcia has every worked on that she feels compelled to do.

To promise herself she would live to see another night like that one would be insanity, and that she knows. But she did promise herself that she would draw that being. Somehow… she'd get it right.


End file.
